The satisfying smell
of yeast in warm milk
suckling itself into sisters;
my hands plunge into
the primordial ooze
of flour and starter
and feel life itself beginning.
Evolution of higher forms
as flour is added
and the mass of mess
separates from its creator
into a globe of supple,
warm comfort.
Sundered, one half
becomes our daily bread,
the other, sliced into twelfths
and rolled into serpentine
lengths, turned upon themselves,
drenched in sinful
garlic butter
and roasted like hell
until heavenly.